


He's Not Dead (It Only Looks That Way)

by Lucifuge5



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Assorted Bandom Peeps in the Background, Bottom!Frank, Community: bandom_meme, Fluff, M/M, Mild Bite Play, Polyamory, v triad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 20:57:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifuge5/pseuds/Lucifuge5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Four random moments in MCR's unlives during tour and the one time everything changed.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's Not Dead (It Only Looks That Way)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xojemmaxo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xojemmaxo/gifts).



> Inspired by Xojemmaxo's A-MAZING [illustration](http://xojemmaxo.dreamwidth.org/8357.html) of my prompt at Bandom_meme. The longer I looked at it, the more I wanted to tell the story of vamp!MCR.
> 
> This is set in a 'verse where everyone in Bandom is a magical creature of sorts. Thanks to Andeincascade and Argentumlupine for looking this over at various stages.
> 
> Title from MCR's "Boy Division".

* * *

**Bunk-sharing and Other Hobbies**

Vampires don't dream.

Frank doesn't. Soon as he hears the soft click of his coffin-bunk sealed shut, he's off catching zzz's. Next thing he knows, he's opening his eyes in the darkness and it's eight hours later. Sometimes, he wishes he wouldn't slide into the nothingness of sleep like that.

Not casting a shadow is weird but he can deal. Being unable to dream, though, is one of the few things he misses from when he was human. He likes to think that it would be a cool way to kill the hours when the sun is high in the sky.

~*~

Tonight Frank wakes up to the very familiar sensation of Gerard's mouth on his neck. The nibbling-mumble-mumble-nibbling- _bite_ -mumble-mumble thing Gerard does whenever he sleeps in Frank's coffin-bunk has yet to lose its novelty. Even after all of their years together.

His skin heals fast, so Frank embraces the rush of finding the occasional deep red mark on the junction between his shoulder and his neck. It never hurts when he touches it and, if he's honest with himself, he's always slightly disappointed about that. 

He knows Gerard likes it too because of what it represents: Frank's status as Gerard's Companion.

~*~

The fierce blush Gerard sports the first time he sees one of his sleep-hickeys on Frank's neck sets up a feeling of warmth inside Frank.

"Wow. I mean, wow," Gerard says dreamily as he slides his right hand over Frank's skin, his touch careful.

Pleased as he is with Gerard's reaction, Frank worries about what Ray's opinion would be. Taken at face value, it could been seen as Gerard dismissing Ray's equally valid claim on Frank--which is the last thing Frank or Gerard would want.

Frank mulls the pros and cons about hiding it. Thing is, he isn't ashamed of it. Not that his stomach gets the memo: he's barely able to keep down the two bags of A pos he has for breakfast that night. As a distraction, he plays Halo with Worm, throwing weak insults about 'alchemists who decide that being a bouncer is a real career' while keeping an eye out for Ray.

"Damn, you're in a killing mood tonight," Worm says after Frank does a sneaky move and annihilates Worm's player. Again.

"Can't help the fast reflexes, man," Frank answers as the screen reloads. He's right about to start some more smack-talking when Ray's calling for him. "Be right there in a sec," Frank says, dropping his controller and jumping over Worm, his heart thudding wildly. This is it. Zero hour.

"Morning," he says after standing in front of Ray, clasping his right hand over his left wrist. Ray's old school in some ways; things have to be just so. Frank doesn't mind. He likes the way Ray beams at him with pride when he follows protocol.

"Hey, Frankie," Ray says sleepily. His curls bounce when he leans down and gives Frank a sweet-but-all-too-brief kiss. "Hmm, what's that?" he asks in a casual tone when he steps back. He holds Frank's chin between his thumb and forefinger, making his head tilt to the right.

"Gee," Frank answers and tries not to fidget. 

It'd be all kinds of bad if Ray decides to break their bond or, even worse, challenge Gerard. He takes a deep breath and exhales. Oxygen isn't something he needs unless he's talking, but he's got to break the silence in the back studio somehow.

"When did he give you this?" Ray's hand glides down, his fingers wrapping around Frank's throat. There's a slight pressure (a warning?) on Frank's neck.

"I--I dunno?" Frank replies, shrugging apologetically. "Um, I think he did it while sleeping. Maybe Gee's part-lamprey?"

Ray ignores the weak joke, his gaze focused on the hickey. His eyes grow dark red and the squeeze on Frank's throat strengthens for a second. And then, just like that, the storm in Ray's eyes fades away and he lets go of Frank. "Maybe I should bite you more often, eh, Frankie?"

"If you'd like," Frank says. He shudders when Ray grabs him and pulls him close. "I'm yours."

"Ours," Ray corrects, his voice calm. He angles his head to the side and slides his tongue over the mark.

It's a long time before either of them leave the room.

 

**Ballsy**

The last thing Bob's expecting when he becomes MCR's new drummer is having to wear a bulletproof vest.

"You mean, 'stakeproof', right?" Frank says after he opens the UPS box. Wearing a "Little Miss Fang" t-shirt and tight jeans, knees poking through holes, he looks like less like a vamp and more like a wannabee.

Sitting across from him, Mikey stops texting long enough to roll his eyes. "Stakes, wooden bullets, whatever. We're not wearing it for style reasons."

"He's right. I already died once. Don't wanna go through _that_ any time soon," Ray says. He plops on the floor, leans against Frank's legs and pokes his bag of AB neg on a corner with one of his fangs. 

Gerard give Bob a one-shoulder shrug. He scratches the side of his head, his jet-black hair growing wilder. "Listen, we've got the best fans out there, but, well, you know the situation."

Bob nods at Gerard. He knows it all right. As some of the few public figures who are open about being vamps, MCR has had its share of close and not-so-close brushes against Helsings. He takes the vest Frank hands over. " 's a little heavy."

"It's some kind of metal alloy thing that's hard enough to keep our insides safe but light so we can move onstage," Frank answers while he undoes the velcro strips and slides his vest over his torso. He does a shoulder shimmy that wouldn't be out of place in a boy band video. Moving his arms in a pale imitation of what he does when he's got Pansy hanging in front of him, he looks ridiculous but happy. "Kinda feels like I'm going to fight Orcs."

Mikey and Gerard raise their heads at once.

"Shit. I bet you Brian totally forgot to tell us that these vests are made of _mithril_ !" Gerard says, the hazel of his eyes fading into a bright red.

"Nerds!" Ray coughs as he gets up and walks over to the biohazard trash can, throwing the now empty plastic bag without flair.

Mikey takes a few pics of Frank (who's now on the floor, legs in the air, trashing around). "Blackmail," he mouths at Bob. Gerard's drops his vest and picks up his sketchbook, most probably doing some kind of LOTR-adjacent doodling.

Bob slides his hands over his vest, sucking on his lip ring as his fingertips rub the mesh texture. Suddenly, he can't wait to be onstage wearing this--this _armor_ and pounding his drums.

Fuck the haters.

 

**Boundary is not a four-letter word**

Gerard picks up his cup of blood and blows on it before taking a careful sip. Even after all these years since his transition, he can never set the right number of minutes when heating up a bag in the microwave. The blood--O positive--has a heartiness to it that settles in his tummy. He drinks the rest of it in one gulp, licking his lips as he puts the cup back on the table, and checks out the scene through the tinted windows of the bus.

Geoff from Thursday and some of the Avenged Sevenfold guys are walking around, drinking fairy beer or troll juice or whatever the fuck gets wizards wasted. All of them soaking up what's left of sunlight like it's not a big deal. True to his nature, Gerard grimaces. Fuck but he hates summer. It's past 7 PM for god's sake!

His eyes start to hurt after a few minutes of staring. The enchantments on the tinted glass are strong, but sunlight is more powerful. He closes his eyes for a moment before glancing toward the back of the bus, ears straining for telltale sounds of anyone else stepping out of their coffin-bunks. Other than the low hum of the A/C, the My Chem bus is quiet to the point of appearing empty.

Normally, Gerard would be among the last ones to rise, but tonight is the first night of the tour. The anticipation of seeing the kids, singing to them, telling them that it's OK whether they've got fangs, wings, tails or are totally human, woke him up way too early. If only Frank was up, he could shoot the shit with him, sketch him or maybe even share a bag of blood or two.

He chews on a hangnail, remembering walking past Frank's _empty_ coffin-bunk tonight. A flash of jealousy twinges inside his defunct heart for only a second.

Everyone talks about werewolves being territorial as fuck. And, yeah, there's that whole thing about scents, aggressiveness and Packs. The funny thing is that, for all of their claws and snarl, _weres_ aren't nearly as possessive as vampires. Other than a nest (which is more about having a family than finding a mate), vampires don't like to share.

So having Frank as both his and Ray's Companion should feel weird. Only, it doesn't. It's true that he's the one who brought Frank into the nest, but it was Ray who convinced him to stay.

~*~

The quick hiss that happens when someone steps out of their coffin-bunks shakes Gerard out of his casual moodiness. He glances over to the sun-proof partition between the lounge and the sleeping area. Mikey steps through, wearing a "Jedis Do It Better" t-shirt that isn't his and black sweatpants that hang low on his slim hips. His hair looks like it fought three rounds against a rattail comb and lost.

"Morning," Gerard says as Mikey walks past him, slow and sleepy-eyed.

Mikey mumbles a 'hello'. He turns in the direction of the kitchenette and Gerard makes it a point to overlook the couple of scratches on Mikey's pale, long neck.

Sometimes, it's better not to know.

 

**Beloved**

"I swear you have the survival instincts of a fruit fly," Ray says, the expression on his face stern as he opens the jar of NO-BURNZ. "Let me see that arm."

Frank stretches his right arm, biting back a hiss when Ray spreads the thick cream on his skin. "What good is wearing sunblock with 200 SPF if I still char like a burger on a grill?"

"Oh, I don't know," Ray says, as he continues to glide the light blue ointment all over the blisters. "It might have something to do with you being, you know, _a vampire_."

Frank rolls his eyes at the implied 'duh' in Ray's voice. He's glad that Ray's focus is on the sunburn. Unlike Gerard, Ray doesn't really deal well with excessive snarkiness. He doesn't understand that Frank's innate brattiness is an invitation to play (and, possibly, _punish_ via spanking). Instead, Ray turns his anxiety inwards, hiding away in the studio that's in the back of the bus. It's a weird reaction, very un-vampire like.

But then, Ray was turned against his will so respect is a sensitive spot with him. "Yeah, well, it's been ages since I saw the dudes from the Architects. I got excited."

"They had centaur business," Ray says when he done with the NO-BURNZ. "Hmm, we're gonna have to bandage this," he continues, turning around and digging through the first aid kit. "I swear I saw a roll of UV bandages around here...Aha!" He shows Frank a roll of magenta gauze, unrolling it with a snap. "Keep your arm steady, OK? I need to make sure that no light will filter through."

~*~

"Finally," Franks says, flexing his arm when Ray's finished. Standing still is something he only does for either Gerard or Ray, but that doesn't mean he likes it.

He's about to tell Ray about this riff he can't stop thinking about when he catches the precise way Ray puts the ointment and scissors and UV bandage back in the kit. "Maybe you shouldn't put _that_ away," he says, his right hand gripping Ray's wrist firmly.

"Oh? And why is that?" Ray puts the roll back on the table.

If he didn't know Ray the way he does, Frank would've totally bought the clueless look Ray's giving him. "Two words: hotel night." He waggles his eyebrows. "Like you didn't know."

"I'd forgotten about it," Ray says, giving Frank a small smile.

"Liar," Frank says, quirking an eyebrow.

"Prove it." Ray's eyes flash dark red for a moment. He looks like he's ready to devour Frank. "Well?"

And that's all the invitation Frank needs. He jumps onto Ray's lap, wiggling a little against his crotch. They might both be wearing jeans, but Ray's cock is definitely saying hello to Frank's ass.

Frank presses his nose against the soft skin right behind Ray's ears. He's stretching his neck, baring it for his Companion. It's an intentional move. One that Ray appreciates as he licks the side of Frank's neck and sinks his fangs against the muscle, right underneath his scorpion tattoo. He isn't careful; Frank wouldn't want him to be.

The pain is sharp to the point of becoming pleasurable. Frank bites his lower lip when Ray pulls back and licks the already-healing bite mark. He ruts against Ray, seeking some friction to alleviate the hardness of his cock. "I want. I--," he half-moans. He stops when he feels Ray's hands grabbing his hips, like bands of iron.

"I know you do," Ray says, holding Frank still. "If you're patient, I promise you we'll have our fun tonight after the concert. You'll be good and wait for me, right, Frankie?"

Frank licks his lips and nods. Last time Ray was in this kind of mood, he tied Frank's wrists and ankles to the bed and teased him until he came. And then he fucked Frank agonizingly slow, tapping into his self-control in a way that drove Frank even crazier.

(Frank was in a daze for _days_.)

 

**Boom! went my heart**

"And that's why 'Purple Rain' is the perfect song. I mean, the artistry in the bass line alone..." Patrick looks at Mikey like he's expecting an eyeroll. He pulls the edges of his hoodie sleeves down, his movements nervous.

"Wow, that's a _lot_ about 'Purple Rain'. I had no idea you were such a Prince fan," Mikey says, his voice low like they are confessing secrets to each other.

Ever since the beginning of the tour, Mikey has spent many a lazy night talking to Patrick about all kinds of music. Though shy at first, the lure of discussing musical genres shook Patrick out of his shell. He speaks of influences and favorite musicians with a kind of assertiveness that he doesn't usually display during interviews. Mikey enjoys their talks.

He sideglances at Patrick, pleased to see the beginnings of a blush on his cheeks, and enjoys the way his stomach flips after looking at Patrick one second too long. For the first time in almost a week, Pete and the rest of Fall Out Boy aren't anywhere near their bus. They're all cool guys, no doubt about it. The problem is that they're always around.

Always.

"Yeah, well, he's also got The Revolutionary backing him up," Mikey replies, trying to get his mind back on the topic. "We can't forget about them."

"You mean The Revolution, right?" Patrick says in between giggles.

"Know-it-all." Mikey bumps his right shoulder against Patrick's left. He gives into the fizziness that's building up inside him, exchanging looks with Patrick, and bursts out laughing for no reason at all.

After a few seconds, they both start to calm down. Mikey takes off his glasses and closes his eyes, rubbing them with the back of his hands.

"Hey," Patrick says quietly.

Mikey takes a deep breath. A smell that reminds him of _Habanero_ peppers tickles his nose. "So," he says when he opens his eyes and notices how close Patrick's face is. Mikey begins to tilt his head to the side, closing his mouth and keeping his movements slow enough so that Patrick can back out if he wants to. He gets ready to press his lips against Patrick's . . .

As first kisses go, it is absolute perfection. Patrick is bold when it comes to kissing. He slips his tongue inside Mikey's mouth and deepens the kiss, his hands scrambling all over Mikey's back.

Mikey pushes the two of them forward until Patrick lies against the sofa cushions and Mikey's on top of him. He kisses a path from Patrick's mouth to his neck, the sharp points of his barely-there fangs leaving a few scratches behind. Patrick pushes against him, gasping for breath when it all becomes too much. Feeling equally light-headed, Mikey pulls back and gives Patrick a side smile before bending his head down and going for round two.

"Hey, Lunchbox, you mind if I borrow your phone? Mine drowned in Gabe's keg. The Cobras swore up and down that they'll make my phone good as new but you know witches. My mother always said--Oh, hey." Pete stops a few feet away, the confusion on his face obvious as he looks at Mikey, Patrick and then back to Mikey.

Both Mikey and Patrick jump back and sit up in a flash. It takes Mikey a considerable amount of willpower to keep his face as blank as he can. Next to him, Patrick slides a couple of inches away.

Damn.

"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt," Pete says with an air of nonchalance as if he hadn't just found Mikey and Patrick dry-humping on the bus.

Mikey shoots Pete a look of annoyance.

And either Pete totally misread what Mikey meant or he doesn't give a fuck. He grins mischievously and sits in between them, resting his bright yellow Converse on the coffee table. "What are you guys doing holed up in here, anyway? The moon's full and bright. There are shenanigans a-foot..."

"We were talking about music," Patrick says.

"Music. Is that so?" Pete gives Patrick a long look. "In the dark?" He snaps his fingers and, within seconds, several lights have turned on.

"There was light filtering in through the bus windows," Patrick replies. Mikey shrugs, he puts on his glasses. They're more of a comfort blanket than anything else. His night vision is _perfect_.

"Yeah, well, I think--" And whatever Pete's about to say gets cut off when Andy pops his head in and reminds them they're all due onstage in 30.

"Guess I better go and warm up," Patrick mumbles at no one in particular. He stands up and wiggles his fingers at Mikey. "I'll see you after your show?"

Mikey nods, smiling. "I'm dying to hear your rad thoughts on Bon Jovi."

Patrick snorts and picks up his guitar before heading out.

"I'll be right there, Lunchbox," Pete says brightly. When he faces Mikey, his smile gone. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What?" Mikey frowns.

"With Patrick?" The look Pete gives him is an icy one.

"I--I don't see how that's any of your business," Mikey says. Pete's suddenly dark mood is disorienting.

"Right," Pete says, his eyes becoming entirely black. He waves his hands. The air fills up with static. Pete surveys the area around them. "This should hold," he says with a satisfied look on his face.

"What are you talking about?" Mikey has little patience for random fairy displays of magic.

"I''ve spelled us so that, if anyone comes in while we talk, they'll only see an empty sofa," Pete says like it's no big deal. "Forget about that, though. What I'm about to tell you is some really heavy shit so I need you to promise me that you'll be discrete with the info, all right?"

"Um, okay?"

"Swear that you won't tell anyone," Pete says. He makes a face. "Well, you'll have to tell your nest for obvious reasons, but no one else."

"Fine?" Mikey isn't exactly monosyllabic around friends or family. Right now, though, he's tongue-tied. Pete is starting to freak him out.

"No. No, no, no, Mikeyway. Swear it _on your nest!_ "

Oaths and the like carry a lot of weight among fairies. Mikey takes a deep breath. He's heard about what happens to those who cross the fae, but whatever inside knowledge Pete's holding has to be more than worth it. Fairies can't force an oath for trivial matters. "I swear it."

"See? That was painless," Pete says, his smile bright. "I've _noticed_ you've been spending a lot of time with our Patrick lately and that's puppies, marshmallows, "Summer Nights" and whatever. The problem is that my duty as Royal Chaperone and First Advisor precludes any and all friendships--"

Mikey holds up a hand. "Wait! Back up. You're the Royal what?"

Pete brushes his bangs away from his face. "He didn't tell you, did he? Figures. In addition to being FOB's lead guitarist, a musical genius and a very decent fairy, our Patrick is the Crown Prince of the Fae Court."

"He's _what_?" Mikey's eyebrows jump all the way up to his hairline.

Pete gives Mikey a haughty look. "He's the next-in-line to rule the fairy kingdom."

"Seriously?" Mikey tries to imagine Patrick sitting on a throne and grins. Leave it to a fairy to drop this kind of surprise.

"As an iron nail," Pete says. "It's not going to happen for a while. Their Majesties aren't traveling to the Summerlands for another couple of centuries at least." He exhales. "So, in a way, we're getting ahead of ourselves."

Mikey cracks his knuckles. "We are?"

"There's nothing wrong if you keep things casual with His Royal Highness. However, if your 'thing' with His Royal Highness become more serious, you might want to start thinking about the Marking and what that might mean for you."

Mikey nods at Pete like he understands what he's talking about.

~*~

Mikey doesn't remember walking back to the MCR bus, getting his bass guitar or being onstage. Or, well, he has flashes of Ray giving him a worried look when he returned to the nest and of Frank and Gerard being all over each other during "I'm Not Okay". Mostly, though, it's all a blur.

He's sitting on the farthest corner of the lounge, after their concert, munching on a B neg bag and trying to make all the mess in his head add up.

"What's up?" Gerard says, sitting down next to Mikey. He slides an arm around his lower back and pulls him into a snuggling position. "You've been extra-quiet tonight. Kinda distracted too. Didn't even pick up your phone."

Mikey puts down the blood bag and leans into Gerard. He's tired of thinking. "Hmm?"

"Patrick's been texting you, like, non-stop," Gerard says, waving Mikey's Sidekick in front of Mikey's face. "You guys had a fight or somethin'?"

"No, we're fine," Mikey says automatically.

"You sure? Frank told me he saw Pete give you the 'fairy evil eye' during our set." Gerard runs his fingers through the half-deflated bird's nest Mikey wore all night. It's Gerard's ultimate weapon to get Mikey talking.

And just like that, Mikey folds. "Pete saw me and Patrick kissing and then he told me something."

"Yeah? So what? He jealous?" Gerard drops his hand. "Do you need me to do some ass-kicking? I can take him without breaking a fang!"

Mikey snorts. Gerard's never been a fighter. "No. Patrick and the kissing and I've been thinking about the Marking--"

"The Marking? What's that?" Gerard sounds as confused as Mikey feels.

"I don't even know how to explain it, Gee." Mikey shakes his head.

"Hmm. How about you tell me what you think it is and we'll go from there."

"It's this claiming thing," Bob answers, after being a fucking ninja and sitting in front of the Way brothers. He bums a cigarette from Gerard's pack, taking a moment to light it. "When fairies fall in love, they brand their sigil on their intended's _soul_ or something like that. I think it's a protection thing."

"Pete said it helps the non-fae go through this world and theirs," Mikey says in a low tone. He curls into Gerard.

Frank stops on his way to the sleeping area. He takes a drag off Bob's cigarette. "Whoa, Mikeyway, you're engaged to a fairy? That's hardcore."

Mikey groans. He's exhausted. "Guys, I'm beat. Gonna head off to bed."

"You sure?" Gerard grumbles at the same time Frank says "But it's only 4 A.M.!"

"My head hurts and I kinda want to go under, reboot my brain, you know?" Mikey says in between yawns.

"OK, Mikes, but you know we're here for you, right?" Leave it to Gerard to crank up his earnestness to 11.

"Yeah, I know," Mikey says, standing at last and shuffling his way to his coffin-bunk.

~*~

When Mikey opens his eyes, he's laying on his stomach on a bed of dark green moss. He can hear the chirps of some night insects and see the stars blinking up on the sky. Everything _feels_ real: the rich smell of the earth, the mild breeze rustling the leaves of the trees a few feet away and the soft texture of the moss under his fingers. And yet, there's a prickling sensation on the back of his head and a certain liquid sheen to his surroundings. If he was anything but what he was, he'd think he was dreaming but that's--

"Impossible?" A friendly voice says from behind him.

Mikey sits up and turns. "Patrick?"

Resting on top of a thick tree root, Patrick bows. "You can call me that, sure. Or, if you want to go the formal route, I'm His Royal Highness Patrick Vaughn Stump, Prince of the Fae, He of the Golden Blood, Ruler of all the Elementals, Lord of the Muses, etc., etc. etc. We'll be here all night if I tell you all my titles." He winks at Mikey.

"When you put it like that, I'm Mikey Way. Bass guitarist for My Chem and vampire."

"Nah," Patrick says, giving Mikey a once-over, "you're much more than that. Ask anyone."

Mikey hmms. He can't stop staring at Patrick. "You look so different, um, here."

Patrick slides a hand over short, strawberry blond hair. His bangs curve gracefully over one eye. He's leaner, the fit of his tomato red jacket making him look cool as hell. "My fairy face," he says with a shrug. Beneath all of it, though, is the mix of sweetness and bravery that makes Patrick so irresistable to Mikey.

"You wear it well."

Patrick smirks. He walks to Mikey, his steps unhurried, the way people say they do when they dream.

Mikey closes his eyes and reaches out to Patrick, holding him close and kissing him wildly, wishing they could stay here forever. Patrick yields to Mikey's kisses without question, whimpering when they part.

"Whoa," Patrick says. "Now _that's_ a kiss."

"Anything is possible in dreams, yeah?" Mikey says. "Huh."

"What?" Patrick asks softly, running his hands on Mikey's bare arms.

"Funny. The stars haven't moved," Mikey answers. He tilts his head down, one eyebrow raised. "It's a vampire thing. Or my nest's. I don't know. So, am I?"

"Are you what?" Patrick's eyes are full of mischief.

"Am I--Is this a dream? Because I . . . I don't do this."

Patrick's smile becomes a grin. "A demi-god owed me a favor. It's as close to real dreaming as I could get you." His smile fades. "Pete gave you the third degree, didn't he?"

"Something like that," Mikey admits.

"He looks out for me. Always has," Patrick makes a conciliatory gesture. He clears his throat. "You should trust this," he says as he places a hand on the center of Mikey's torso. "It'll guide you to me."

Mikey covers Patrick's hand with one of his own, squeezing it for a moment. He stares into Patrick's eyes and begins the journey home.

The End


End file.
